


The Cold Times Arise

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: People are not rain or snow orautumn leaves,They do not look beautifulwhen they fall.This is how two Brooklyn boys find their way home - through time, tragedy, and everything else.





	The Cold Times Arise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abrupt arrivals, painful goodbyes, and Steve has deep thoughts about flowers, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, this is something i've been working on for a while and i'm really happy to finally be able to publish the first chapter!! the title of this fic was inspired from the song Falling Apart by Michael Schulte, i'd definitely recommend giving it a listen!! i hope you guys enjoy the start of TCTA!

For a 99 year old WWII veteran, ex-superhero, and now fugitive of the United States, Steve Rogers thought he looked pretty good. By Wakandan standards, however, he probably looked like shit. So after stumbling out of a hijacked quinjet with Bucky slumped on his side, his friend was hurried off to receive medical treatment while he was promptly directed towards the baths and given directions to where he’d be sleeping. It was, in Shuri’s words, “where you will be staying until we can figure out what to do with you broken white boys”. He was also told to check in with a doctor at some point, preferably after he’d cleaned off all the blood and grime.

He sat in the baths now now, near-scalding water bubbling around him as he tried to process the last 48 hours. Tony, Zemo, Siberia… And of course, his friends trapped in some isolated, high-security prison because they fought on his side. A dangerous mix of rage and guilt rushed through him as he imagined Sam pacing around an empty cell, Clint counting the days since he’d last seen his kids. He’d find them and storm the place solo if he had to - it wouldn’t be his first one-man mission. Though if T’Challa’s anger after he had realized where they were being detained was any indication, he wouldn’t be alone.

He was still surprised at the amount of support the Wakandan king had given them, especially considering that just one day ago he has shown no reservations about slitting Bucky’s throat. He wasn’t about to deny T’Challa’s help, though - there weren’t that many people out there that they could wholeheartedly trust… at least people that weren’t incarcerated or dead. He let out a sigh as he thought of all the people he and Bucky had left behind in the last century and he felt a pang of loss in his stomach. God, what he would give just to have the Howling Commandos at his side for just one more day.

Steve was interrupted from his admittedly downward spiraling train of thought by a brusque knock on the entrance to the baths and a soft voice.

“We are willing to help you and Sergeant Barnes, but not at the expense of our entire water supply.” T’Challa’s tone was light, and he held out a beckoning hand. “You have been in here long enough. If you were really that dirty, we would not have let you into Wakanda.” Steve had lost track of time, but clearly he had been absent long enough that T’Challa was worried - although a smile was playing on the other man’s lips, there was a question of concern behind his gentle jabs.

“Yeah. Yeah I— what time is it?” T’Challa raises an eyebrow, clearly getting all the confirmation he needed that Steve was not okay from his shaky, disquieted tone.

“Late enough. Come, I will show you to your quarters, Captain.” Steve froze at T’Challa’s use of his… _former_ rank as a nickname.

“I dropped my shield,” he blurted out, not entirely sure why. The Wakandan leader looked unimpressed by his sudden declaration.

“Yes, I saw,” he replied slowly. “Are you having a change of heart? We can certainly try to recover it, however—”

“No, I… No, It’s fine.” He fell silent after that, slipping out of the baths and into some Wakandan attire that had been shoved in his arms around the time he was being dragged to the baths. Their walk back to Steve’s room was quiet other than the Wakandan king’s occasional comment on some of the many facilities they passed. Steve simply nodded in reply to each explanation, his thoughts mostly consumed by his sudden urge to bring up his shield and T’Challa’s response. _“Are you having a change of heart?”_ Honestly, he didn’t quite know. Had his heart ever really been where everyone thought it was?

As the the two approached the door to Steve’s room, he realized he did know one thing. As his hand hovered over the doorknob, he stilled for a moment.

“I’m not Captain America anymore,” he breathed, still loud enough for T’Challa to hear. The man beside him simply nodded, eyes not betraying any outlying emotion.

“I’ll leave you here,” he started. “I am sure you have a lot to think about this. Though I do have one question, Steve Rogers. If you are no longer Captain America… who are you now?” He gave Steve one last nod before retreating into the Wakandan shadows, leaving him to stumble through the door to his quarters.

Steve was so focused on trying to reign in the hurricane of thoughts swirling around his head that he almost missed the figure reclining on the couch as he walked through the door. He had almost made his way to the small kitchen his suite provided when he heard the shuffling of pillows and a gruff, all too familiar voice call his name. He whirled around and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself as Bucky stared at him with a level gaze, hair tousled and sporting a cover of some sorts over the stump of his metal arm.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, not even sure where to begin. “Did you get sick of the doctors or did they get sick if you?” Bucky let out a huff of amusement at his words, running a hand through his hair as he replied.

“A little of both, I guess. They work quickly, you know.” He sighed, bringing his hand down to gesture what was left of the arm HYDRA had forged for him. “They’re not gonna bullshit me. The arm, they can fix with little effort. One of ‘em suggested making a new one entirely, which might take a bit longer, but the others seemed to agree that it’d be the better option.

“But the stuff HYDRA put in my head… Well, it’s not exactly their area of expertise. They just don’t know at this point. Not like I blame ‘em, though. I don’t think they got a medical course in how to reverse 60 years worth of brainwashing and torture.”

The words put a bitter taste in Steve’s mouth. “They’ll figure somethin’ out, Buck,” he encouraged, barely noticing as the slight Brooklyn accent slipped into his words. Bucky nodded absentmindedly in response.

“Yeah, I’m sure they will. But it won’t be anytime soon, and I—” he took a shaky breath. “I’m still dangerous. I’m unpredictable, a… a fucking _weapon_.” He looked down at the ground, frowning. Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again, his stomach sinking as he tried to find the right words.

“I trust you,” he managed to choke out. “I trust you and I—”

“That doesn’t _matter,”_ Bucky snapped, leveling him with a dark gaze. “It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing, Steve, because I can’t even trust _myself.”_ He glared at the ground for a moment before letting out a bitter sigh. “Sorry, I just… it’s been a long day.” Steve nodded mutely, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He made his way over to the couch where Bucky was reclined, who swung his legs to the ground, allowing Steve to sit next to him.

Hesitantly, he brought a hand to Bucky’s nonmetal shoulder, feeling a rush of relief when the long-haired man leaned into his touch. They stayed like that for a minute, taking comfort in each other’s presence, something they’d both gone far too long without. It was Bucky that finally broke the silence.

“Are you still drawing?” He questioned, his voice almost a whisper. Steve let out a grin at the inquiry.

“Well, with being on the run from the government and chasing down HYDRA, I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to whip out some new pencils,” he mused, feeling Bucky’s shoulder shake as he chuckled. “Plus,” he added, “I was missing my favorite model.” He got a quiet hum in reply.

“You should ask T’Challa for a canvas or something,” he suggested, falling silent afterwards. The quiet that followed was comfortable, familiar, and Steve couldn’t help but think this was all too easy, falling back into place with Bucky. He almost opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, opting to let the moment play out naturally.

Steve couldn’t tell who moved first, but eventually they both reclined backwards on the couch, Steve dropping his arm from Bucky’s shoulder to allow them to move closer, arms brushing together. Bucky closed his eyes, but Steve could still tell he was alert, far from sleep. His breathing was quiet - too quiet - and Steve knew it was just another skill HYDRA beat into him, quite literally.

As always, his chest tightened when he thought of the 70 years of torture Bucky had to endure. It wasn’t _fair,_ he wanted to scream, but none of it was, really. Not what he or Bucky had gone through.Steve wasn’t particularly religious, but he was pretty sure whatever force controlled fate had been determined to see him and Bucky fail since the ‘30s. Yet here they sat, so many decades later - both so far from the men they used to be, but still side by side, determined to piece themselves together and move forward. He had his doubts, plenty of them, but for now he was willing to believe in two soldiers dozing off on a Wakandan couch. He was willing to hope.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in over 2 years, Bucky’s nightmares didn’t come, and he slept in intervals longer than 30 minutes. He would have blamed it on his exhaustion, but HYDRA had drilled that out of him long ago. There was another explanation, one that he was afraid to touch on, but it was hard to ignore when said explanation was softly snoring on his shoulder, mop of blond hair tickling Bucky’s chin. 

Part of him wanted to bolt - had wanted to, ever since the quinjet touched ground in Wakanda. He knew most of it was HYDRA conditioning, instinct to get away from the _enemy_ until he could regroup and refocus. He had to constantly remind himself that he was safer here, that Steve was by his side and he could _trust him_ **_._ ** But that was the issue, wasn’t it? He could trust Steve and that scared the hell out of him. It was like muscle memory, to relax around him, and something like that - something that was strong enough to effortlessly override HYDRA’s brainwashing - was not something he was ready to tackle. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to face that.

The light was barely filtering through the windows, creating a warm, hazy sort of glow, and for a moment Bucky hesitated, because it seemed too good of a moment to let go. He had to, though. He always did. So he slipped out from under Steve, leaving a makeshift stack of pillows in his place. He didn’t worry about waking Steve up - from what he could remember, the guy slept like a rock.

His memories were still coming back slowly, in no conceivable order. He could remember that Steve hated Swiss cheese on his sandwiches but not the name of the Brooklyn street they had lived on. He felt like he had all the wrong pieces of the James Buchanan Barnes puzzle - the outline was there, but the picture was an indecipherable jumble. He still didn’t know how he was going to figure it all out, but he was pretty sure Steve was digging up pieces he wasn’t ready to put down yet. So he had to go. It was better for the both of them. At least, that’s what he told himself as he gently closed the door behind him.

T’Challa was waiting for him - at least, that’s what Bucky assumed when he saw the Wakandan king loitering in the hallway where all the guest rooms were located.

“You knew I’d run,” Bucky started, his voice low. “How’d you know?”

“You didn’t seem like you were ready to stay.”

“I’m gonna hurt Steve no matter what,” he realized aloud, saying it to convince himself as much as T’Challa. “Steve wants me to stay, but I can’t, because I’m not safe.”

“Our best doctors are working on it,” T’Challa offered. “But for now, we are stuck in an uncomfortable in between. He thinks he can keep you safe, but he does not think of the cost his protection requires.” He paused, seeming hesitant before speaking his next words. “I do not think it is healthy, what to two of you have right now. Steve is looking for himself as much as you are, and he cannot find what he is searching for in you. It will only lead to heartbreak.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding in. Someone else _understood._ “It’s a hot mess,” He summarized. T’Challa’s lips curved into a wry smile.

“The hottest,” he agreed with an amused tone. It fell silent again, and the king’s next words were far more sobering. “You are thinking of going back into cryostasis.” Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“You know, I’m glad we’re not trying to slit each other’s throats anymore,” he mused. “It’s nice to have someone know what I’m thinking some of the time.” _And not try to stop me,_ was the part left unspoken.

“We can be ready as soon as this afternoon if you would like.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, letting the gratitude seep into his voice. “I just… gotta tell Steve.”

“Take your time,” T’Challa replied. “I can imagine he will not be happy. It is for the best, however, for both of you, I think.” Bucky nodded in agreement.

“I just… have one request. Keep an eye on Steve. He tends to think with his fists instead of his head when he’s upset.”

“I know the feeling,” T’Challa hummed. “We will do our best to make sure he is safe. You have my word as a king and as a friend.”

“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he said softly.

“Do not worry. You were a victim in this as much as my father. I am happy to help.”

“Still, if there’s anything I can do—”

“You can come with me and eat breakfast. You could do with a hearty meal or two.”

Bucky huffed in amusement, shaking his head as he tagged along with the Wakandan king.

 

* * *

 

Steve didn’t let himself feel disappointed when he felt Bucky slip out from underneath him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and focused on keeping his breathing even instead. He hated how helpless he felt to stop Buck. He’d been by his side for his whole life - thought they’d known each other inside and out - and now he couldn’t even tell where their boundaries were. So he let the door close with a gentle click and buried his face in the pillows Buck had left behind, inhaling his familiar scene. Once he would’ve called it the smell of home. Now he didn’t know if he had that right.

After a couple more minutes of cushioned solitude, Steve’s grumbling stomach overpowered the residual lethargy from the night, and he reluctantly rolled off the couch. He pulled on some jeans (that fit perfectly, through some miracle of Wakandan tailoring) and a plain black shirt before dragging himself to the common area designated for all palace guests, where T’Challa had promised there would be breakfast.

He was still blinking the sleep out of his yes when a lithe, feminine figure seemingly popped out of nowhere, falling into stride beside him.

It was no surprise to Steve that Natasha Romanoff had found her way to Wakandan so quickly after their airport skirmish, and was now casually strolling down the corridor beside him as if the last time they had talked had been a Sunday brunch.

“I suppose you’re not here for a vacation,” he voiced, and Nat smirked as she replied.

“Not quite. Figured you might want some help dragging your friends out of prison.”

“Much appreciated,” he responded. “Surprised you didn’t end up there yourself.”

“Yeah, well, prison wasn’t exactly my ideal getaway spot either.” She shrugged. “I had a few connections.” Steve’s eyes narrowed at her vague explanation.

“Any proof you’re still not playing the whole double agent act?”

“I may not agree with you on the Accords, but I also don’t agree with throwing half the Avengers in jail.” She spoke carefully, her tone even.

“The pacifist is a new act for you,” Steve quipped. “What about Buck? You gonna take him as payment for your assistance?”

“As far as I’m concerned, James Barnes has no ties with Wakanda whatsoever. There was even an anonymous tip that he may have fled to South Africa.”

Steve nodded slowly, satisfied with her answer. They walked the rest of the way to the common area in silence.

It wasn’t too long of a trek to their destination, though the route was scenic. The paneled windows throughout the hallway allowed for a view of deep green, winding foliage juxtaposed by some of the brightest flowers Steve had ever seen. You couldn’t get those from the flower shop down the street from his childhood home in Brooklyn.

He had been doing when Sarah had explained to him that people bought flowers for each other to show they cared. Steve’s first thought, of course, was to buy flowers for her and Buck. Sarah had just smiled softly and shook her head when he suggested it, though, saying _“We already know you care, far more than flowers could show.”_ That hadn’t stopped him from buying a single rose to put on Sarah’s grave when the sickness consumed her what seemed all too soon after that conversation. Now he wondered if there was a flower shop in Wakanda, and if they sold the vibrant flowers he saw peering through the glass. He wondered if he should buy a flower for Buck. He wondered if Buck knew he cared.

Nat have Steve a gentle nudge. “Hey— we’re here.”

Steve gave a nod of acknowledgement, glancing forward to take in the spacious room in front of them. Unlike the typical Wakandan architecture, which was the definition of technological advancement, this area had a more rustic feel. Arching wood beams reached above to form a steepled roof far above, matching the cedar paneling on the walls. There were various couches and chairs spread about the spacious room, all in warm red and orange tones. Soft music filled the gaps in conversation between a group of people clustered a corner. Steve could pick out T’Challa, Shuri, and… Buck.

He was reclined in a cushioned chair, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he whispered something to the unfamiliar woman next to him. She barked out a laugh at his comment, and Steve pointedly looked away. He wasn’t _jealous_ , but… had it been the ‘30s again, Buck would’ve saved Steve a seat no matter where they were. Most of the time, Steve would’ve already been by his side. So it was just _different._

Nat gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, a subtle indicator that he should go talk to Buck. It should’ve been reflex, to go over to him, but after the message he’d conveyed that morning by leaving without a word, Steve hesitated. That was, until Buck noticed him in the room, and they locked eyes. A look that Steve could only describe as apprehensive and regretful passed over Buck’s face, and Steve needed no more confirmation that the last thing Buck wanted right now was to interact with him. The worried glance Nat threw his way was nothing but a blur as Steve turned on his heel and stumbled out of the common area.

“...Steve? _Steve!_ ” Nat’s calls only prompted him to walk faster, only slowing to a casual pace after his friend had seemingly given up chasing him.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, masking the sound of abnormally soft footsteps until he reached the end of the unfamiliar corridor he had stumbled into. It seemed to be some kind of storage area for the labs, based on the clusters of complex yet untouched equipment. As he scanned the area for potential workers, he noticed a movement in the fragmented reflections of the glass-lined walls, and whirled around to find a painfully familiar figure.

“While I don’t doubt that there’s some kind of artistic beauty in old science equipment,” Bucky started, trying for a smile, “A storage unit isn’t exactly where I’d come for the scenic Wakandan experience.”

“You left,” Steve said flatly.

“I don’t suppose you’ll take ‘I was hungry’ for an answer and wait until after to let me explain.” His voice was tinged with sadness, and Steve paused.

“After what?” As he spoke, his gaze drifted to the side and… _no. No, no, no._ Sticking out from a multitude of bizarre machines and contraptions was one that made every muscle in Steve’s body tense up. Or maybe _freeze_ was a better word.

“Cryostasis. You’re going back into cryo.” It was as if every memory, every bit of happiness he’d cling to since he found out Buck was still alive was crumbling into pieces as he blurted out those six words.

“I told you,” Buck said softly, nothing but regret in his voice. “I’m not sa—”

“When?”

“This afternoon.”

“I’m losing you, again.” Steve couldn’t tear his gaze from the machine that did nothing but take. Taking time, memories, and now it was taking Buck from him.

“Maybe… maybe that’s not such a bad thing for us right now.” He could tell Buck was trying to stay composed, but his words were what sent a knife through Steve’s heart.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” He paused, trying to contain his hurt and frustration. “I know this is your call, but you don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me. You… you never did that before.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t wired to be a human weapon capable of mass murder _before,_ either.” The sudden venom in Buck’s tone made him wince. Before he could reply, though, Buck continued. “You’re right, I don’t know what’s best for you. Because I don’t know you in that way anymore. I’m still remembering. Hell, I barely know myself either. At least, I don’t know who James Buchanan Barnes is without Steve Rogers by his side.”

Steve felt like he was staring down the Winter Soldier all over again. “I’m sorry.” His words were devoid of emotion; the voice of a man who wanted nothing more than to detach himself from everything. This wasn’t Captain America - this was Steve Rogers, giving up.

“It’s not forever,” Bucky supplied, but it didn’t give Steve any comfort. “Just until they find out how to decondition me.”

“It won’t fix anything between us.” Steve felt numb. So, so numb.

“No, but it’s a start,” Buck argued. Steve could tell he was grasping for straws, trying to find a silver lining. “Steve, I… this isn’t _about you._ I’m sorry, because I know you want to help, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Steve blurted out, taking a slow step backwards. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”

“...Steve? Steve, _wait!”_

Buck’s voice faded into dust as Steve stumbled away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm already well into writing chapter 2, so it shouldn't be too long of a wait until the next update. for now, let me know what you guys thought of the first chapter in the comments!!


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